


Our Battles They May Find Us

by jusrecht



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kyoko is a boss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Battles They May Find Us

Sawada Kyoko did not at all look the picture of a ruler.

It bred speculations among the guests. She wore a particular shade of grey—her late husband’s signature colour—and yet on her it fell soft and warm, cordial despite the sharp cut of the suit. Useless, the guests whispered maliciously among themselves, for Vongola had little need of cordiality in these troubled times. Vongola needed a steel fist, a man’s rage and daring, not the softness of a female.

But the presence of a reliable male was exactly what Vongola was lacking. The Ninth sat bent on his wheelchair, a man too old and too weak now to see his legacy brought upon the brink once more. All eyes roamed curiously for the tall banner of the Varia, the visceral presence of its leader, but neither deigned to emerge and end their seeking. Not surprising, they reasoned, nodding their heads in supposed understanding. No self-respecting man would condemn himself to such humiliation, not after he had been passed over twice for the position—and the last in favour of a grieving widow no less.

Clearly, Timoteo had made a mistake. Vongola Undicesimo could not be such a weak choice.

Dressed in similar grey, Haru blended among the guests as conversations rose and swirled about her. The great Vongola _Famiglia_ would not survive this blow, a man spoke knowingly within his small, private circle. To think that the precarious throne would fall from the young Vongola Decimo to his equally young wife, barely a woman of thirty with neither the stature nor the experience… Not only that a female was still an unconventional choice, it was obvious that she had not the necessary support either. Not one of the late Vongola Decimo’s Guardians was present in the ceremony, the man pointed out triumphantly—and this was their late boss’s wife they were crowning.

Smiling blandly, Haru sipped her wine and drifted to another close-knitted circle. Somewhere to her left, a cell phone rang.

Followed by another from her right.

And another.

And another, until more than half of the guest was busy scrambling for their devices. At once, alarmed whispers overwhelmed spaces formerly filled by gleeful conjectures and seeds of conspiracies. The newly crowned Vongola Undicesimo remained unperturbed, unaware of the shift in the atmosphere as she conversed with Don Cavallone in a soft, measured voice.

No one saw a man, in the sea of other similarly black-suited men, knelt down to unclasp a small automatic from a concealed ankle holster.

No one but Haru.

He straightened up, the gun firmly clasped between thick, white fingers, but she was faster. Soundless as a cat, Haru slipped to his rear and caught his wrist, wrestling the automatic from his clutch. The man’s small cry of anger drew the attention of his two minions at last, but there were little they could do; Haru already had the mouth of the gun pressed against a pulsing vein under their boss’s jaw, her left arm looped tight around his neck.

“I would think twice if I were you, sir,” she whispered in his ear, each word lined with a threat now still dormant. All it would take was a careless shift, a hint of anything treacherous, and her fingers might just slip.

By now, nearly everyone had noticed the source of the commotion. They watched with wary eyes as Sawada Kyoko approached the petrified man, her cool gaze sweeping over him like that of a hawk on a helpless prey. She stood quietly before him for a moment, and then her voice rang, loud and clear in the newborn silence.

“Surely it is to your knowledge, Don Moretti, that to purposely brandish a weapon in an inheritance ceremony could be considered an act of war?”

“What have you done, you bitch?” he snarled at her.

“It has come to our attention,” she spoke again, unruffled, “that Vongola has a traitor among its allies. This treacherous Family played an integral role in the murder of the late Vongola Decimo seven months ago. I think we both know of whom I am speaking.”

If looks could kill, his eyes would have burned her. “There is no proof,”

“Then I will be more than happy to provide you some,” Kyoko said, nodding at her cell phone. “The vote was unanimous among the Guardians. Your Family was guilty.”

“So you– they _massacred_ my Family for that stupid, spineless husband of yours? He was better off dead!”

“No,” she replied—and her icy politeness was _chilling_ , as was the sight of the gun she was now aiming at her target. “For blood and honour.”

The shot was swift and sure, finding its mark between the man’s eyes. Haru let the limp, lifeless body fall to the grass, barely aware of the messy spatters of blood on her face and the upper part of her clothes. Her eyes met Kyoko’s for the briefest moment, and then the latter turned toward her audience.

“As of today, the Moretti Family is no longer a part of our alliance,” she announced, her voice was low, controlled. “In a few weeks, I will call for a meeting to discuss restructuring and appropriate changes in regard to business areas—but for now, let us continue the celebration.”

Her smile returned, the same thing of softness and warmth—but this time, no word dared speak against her.


End file.
